


The Virtue of Patience

by ellorgast



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon
Genre: Complete, Gen, Knights of Elysian, One Shot, Shitennou, Silver Millennium Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:18:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3346676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellorgast/pseuds/ellorgast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Endymion and Kunzite go searching for the next chosen Shitennou, who is not at all what they expected to find.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Virtue of Patience

Kunzite leaned his temple against his fingers, feeling a headache brewing. The roaring crowd, the endless clank of metal striking wood, the merciless sun beating down upon him, all conspired to make him irritable. “This is painful,” he grumbled.

“I would remind you,” Endymion said crisply, “that this was your idea.”

“Only because our search has brought us to the most abysmal village I have ever laid eyes on, separated from every known mark of civilization by three miles of bog. Why people choose to live out here is their own affair, but I would prefer to avoid visiting every one of their homes.”

Endymion chuckled, remarkably cheerful despite the rustic setting. Kunzite supposed it was only natural: his liege was rarely afforded opportunity to leave behind both castle walls and royal escort. When the Jadeite had activated, he was positively gleeful. 

Tradition dictated that when a guardian stone gave its sign, the royal heir was to go on a pilgrimage to find its rightful owner himself. Kunzite had been found by the Queen when Endymion was still teething. Zoisite had practically fallen into the royal court on his own when he was barely more than a child. Thus, at sixteen, had Endymion been anxious for his first pilgrimage to finally be underway, having already missed his opportunity twice, and the novelty of it had bolstered his mood all the way through the bog and to this muddy little village.

The clang of a dull sword striking a battered shield rang out, and Kunzite winced again. The village’s attempt at a tourney might have been quaint in its efforts, had the melee not been sandwiched right in between a pie eating contest and a hog-riding competition. Shepherds who had never picked up a real sword in their lives swung eagerly at retired soldiers who could barely walk in their tarnished old armor. He had seen children perform better.

“Who do you think it will be?” It was still difficult to adjust to the sight of Endymion in a lowly soldier’s uniform, even as he seemed to inhabit the simple chainmail and cloak more easily every day. Nothing prevented the prince from traveling with a full entourage of guards, but widespread knowledge of his travels would make him an easy target for any who wished him harm. Two Imperial soldiers traveling alone attracted little enough attention, but gave them ample excuse to openly wear their weapons. 

Of course, the “disguised royalty on a secret pilgrimage” scenario had given rise to a number of romantic tales. Kunzite was sure that one or two started off just like this, with a tournament between knights with noble hearts and shining plate armor. A dramatic and fitting end to the tale would be for the tournament’s winner to stand before the crowd and for Endymion to name him the new Jadeite on the spot. As it was, Kunzite would hardly consider it a triumph for anyone to be declared the winner of this backwater contest.

“Pray that it is none of them. This showing is tragic.”

“You could teach them.”

“You show astounding faith in my ability.”

“Anyway, I was talking about the fight. Who will win the fight?”

Kunzite sighed longsufferingly and sat back in his seat, arms crossed. “The younger has never been formally trained, but he is both stronger and faster. The older one has served time as a soldier, likely in the Red Rebellion, but that was twenty-five years ago. He is out of practice, and not as strong as he used to be. He holds the sword well enough, but the shield is heavy for him. If he’s smart, he’ll let his opponent wear himself down. The way the younger man keeps flailing his sword around, he’s likely to exhaust himself soon enough. But that depends on whether the older man can keep this up that long.”

“So your verdict is…?”

“That trying to determine who is the least terrible at swordplay in this village is a futile effort.”

Endymion snickered. “You are remarkably grumpy about this. They can’t all be found in such nice places as you were, you know.”

“‘Nice.’ That is a rather… inadequate word for the Elysian Shrine.”

“So you’ve told me.”

What Kunzite remembered of the Shrine was white columns and endless rows of candles. Words that were not spoken above a whisper unless in song or chant. Hard work and long silences. He often missed that place, even if he would never trade it for his place as Endymion’s guard. “You will see it someday.”

The melee ended when the older man got the better of the inexperienced one, and Kunzite, despite having almost no stake in the fight, felt gratified to see skill (however rusty) overcome blind youth. Despite the noble efforts of the competitors, the Jadeite that Endymion held remained dark in his hand. “Is it time to start knocking on doors yet?” The young prince smiled, clearly unperturbed by the lack of progress.

Kunzite sighed heavily. “The festival continues. Perhaps the champion pie-maker will be the one you seek.”

Despite the festival’s relatively small size, the streets still churned with crowds chattering about the day’s events and lingering over stalls packed with baskets of fresh berries, fine pottery, and colorful bolts of silk brought in by the merchant caravans. Though the rural festival attendees were unlikely to pose any sort of threat, least of all against two Imperial soldiers, Kunzite was accustomed to keeping close to Endymion, just behind his left shoulder, scanning for any potential danger. The young prince was more careless, plunging into the thick of the crowd to look at a table filled with crystal baubles and little stone carvings. He did not notice when one of the many people pressed around him brushed against his belt. 

Kunzite’s hand closed around a wrist seconds before the deft fingers could finish loosening Endymion’s money purse. The thief did not yelp when Kunzite wrenched him closer, his wrist held in a crushing grip, which meant he was well practiced at his craft. In fact, when Kunzite peered under the hood that the thief wore, he saw the ghost of a smirk there. “It can be only bravery or stupidity,” he said lowly, “that would compel someone to rob an Imperial soldier in broad daylight.”

The thief was young, with pale blue eyes that bore far more intelligence than a petty criminal had any right to have. He raised an eyebrow in a mocking effort at surprise. “Rob? I’m sure I have no idea what you mean, friend.”

The people around them seemed to barely notice the altercation, at most perhaps suspecting a minor argument, and side-stepping them to see the far more interesting things arranged on the tables. Endymion noticed belatedly, and wisely kept silent, standing just out of the thief’s reach. “I am certain,” Kunzite continued, “that the local authorities will be very pleased when I hand you over to them.”

“By all means,” the thief answered lightly, “draw attention to yourself. I’m certain the local authorities will want to know the names of the brave soldiers who brought in the notorious thief. Why, what better time than the festival, with half the countryside milling about? They could have you up on stage, announce your presence to them all.”

Either the thief was very, very good at guessing, or he possessed knowledge far beyond some small-town criminal. A dangerous amount of knowledge. Kunzite’s grip tightened further, so that even the seemingly unshakable man winced in pain. It wasn’t the time for powers yet, but the energy pooled in his fingertips anyway, waiting to be unleashed. “You seem to be suggesting something. Speak now.”

The thief spoke through a hiss of pain. “Only that the uniform you wear seems… hmm, a little below your rank? As for your friend over there…” he shot Endymion a glance, one that seemed to be full of questions, “he’s not like any soldier I’ve seen. He’s… something else.”

Kunzite glared down into his face far longer than most would consider comfortable, searching for some lie he had missed. “And who would believe you, the local pick-pocket?”

He laughed, seemingly back on familiar ground. “Nobody, of course. But they don’t have to. All you need to do is stir up a little trouble, and they’ll start asking questions themselves.”

If the thief truly knew anything, he could be a threat. The right words to the right people could paint a target on Endymion’s back, when he was miles from safety. But criminal though he might be, Kunzite saw no true malice in him, and he had to admit that he was not entirely wrong. The moment they spoke to any real Imperial soldier, their own identities would be scrutinized. And the more people--even those who served the crown--who knew Endymion’s whereabouts, the more likely it became that his enemies could learn the same.

“Then why don’t we put this incident behind us,” Kunzite said softly, “provided you stay well out of our way.”

“I’m glad we could reach an understanding,” the thief said with a grin, as Kunzite released him. He had the audacity to salute them both with the same hand that had been caught, though his wrist was still red from Kunzite’s grip, before he slipped back into the crowd.

It was only moments later that Kunzite noticed his own purse missing.

Had he not been raised in the first Shrine of Elysian, trained in the Courts of the Golden Kingdom, and disciplined in the Imperial army, Kunzite may have uttered the most vile curses known to the gods. Instead he looked heavenward and mentally prayed that a meteor might be sent to obliterate either the thief or himself or both. 

Beside him, Endymion shifted uncomfortably. “We might, uh, have bigger problems right now.”

Standing with his hand still close to the nearly-stolen money purse, turned towards Kunzite so that nobody else could see, Endymion held something glowing. It was the Jadeite. 

This time, Kunzite really did curse.

***

The thief’s identity and location was easy enough to track down. Brandish the Imperial flag a bit, suggest that they were on Very Important Business, and people were more than happy to tell Kunzite about the pick-pocket who lived on the edge of the bog. 

“You are absolutely certain?” Kunzite asked, not nearly for the first time, as he edged along an exposed tree root to avoid stepping in the worst of the mud and soiling his boots. He may have been posing as an ordinary soldier, but that did not mean he would stop keeping up appearances. “There were dozens of people milling around us.”

“Yes, I am absolutely certain,” Endymion repeated back--mechanically, because he had repeated the words so many times that they had lost all meaning. “The stone was in my purse. The stone activated when he touched my purse.”

“The timing could be incidental.”

Endymion lightly stepped over some rocks to avoid the mud. “I don’t think so. I felt… something. I don’t know. I’d have had to touch him to be sure.”

“But what virtue,” Kunzite ducked around one of the many gnarled, twisted trees that intruded upon the muddy path, “could he have possibly exuded to make the Jadeite activate?”

“I don’t know, the virtues are rather vague, aren’t they? What did you do to demonstrate purity and affection?”

_I offered water from the holy spring to a queen because she looked tired. She had a screaming baby and a kingdom to run. The water was not mine to give and the reason was frivolous, but I was six and she looked sad._ “I was young. I don’t know.”

“He did resolve the conflict more or less peacefully. That could be a demonstration of harmony.”

“He _blackmailed_ us.”

“But he was right.”

“And _then_ he stole my money.”

“You know what I think? I think you’re really wishing it had been the terrible swordsman who won the melee, after all.”

“Right now, I would take the one who won the pig riding contest.”

The cottage they found matched the description that a kind old weaver had provided to Kunzite. It may have been a nice house at one point in time, but now the yellow paint on the door was faded and the roof in need of mending. The stone path that led up to the front door looked like it had been carefully placed some years ago, but it was overgrown with moss. Clusters of purple flowers still struggled to grow amidst the tangled weeds. And though the more cosmetic aspects of the house seemed to have been neglected, a pile of freshly-chopped wood was stacked high along the side, and smoke drifted lazily from the chimney. 

“It seems… rather pleasant, actually,” Endymion muttered, as they approached the house. “This place has a good feeling.”

“Not exactly the thieves’ den I was expecting, no,” Kunzite replied, going over his options. If he thought they were approaching a criminal hive, it would be better to break in undetected. But the last thing they wanted was to actually provoke an altercation. Knocking on a pick-pocket’s door seemed like the silliest course of action, but also the least likely to make them appear as a threat. 

When the door swung open, it was not the thief who answered, nor anybody who one would expect to associate with such a person. She wore a knitted shawl around her shoulders, and her hand on the door was gnarled with age. She peered up at them with milky white eyes. “Who is there? May I help you?”

Kunzite and Endymion exchanged baffled glances. “We’re… sorry to intrude. We were looking for, uh….” Kunzite fumbled for words that did not include phrases like “dirty, conniving thief.”

“A young man, blond hair,” Endymion jumped in helpfully. He had been studying hard at diplomacy. “We were told he might be here?”

The old woman’s face lit up. “Oh, are you friends with my Jonah?”

“Jonah. Yes.”

“He’s just gone to get me some potatoes from Crawford’s farm. He’ll be back very soon. Why don’t you have some tea while you wait?” 

Endymion flashed her a smile that she could not see, but would certainly hear in his voice. “That would be very nice, thank you.”

The old woman, whose name was Myrah, served them tea and biscuits with berries served on rough country pottery. She moved so easily about her kitchen that Kunzite could almost suspect she was not as blind as he had thought, until he noticed the way she sometimes felt her way around, such as holding her hand near the kettle to test its heat before picking it up. 

By the time the front door swung open again, the three of them were chatting like old friends, Myrah regaling them with tales about the time she got her wagon stuck in the bog as a girl. “I just couldn’t get that dress soiled, of course, so there I was, up to my knees in mud, pushing that blasted wagon out all by myself, wearing nothing but my knickers, when along comes--ah, Jonah!”

The thief named Jonah stood in the kitchen doorway with a sack of potatoes in one hand and a look of muted horror. Myrah rose from her chair. “Come have some tea with your friends. I’ll get you a biscuit.”

Kunzite sat casually back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, and sipped at his tea. “Yes, Jonah. Come sit down.”

Without his hood pulled up to make him look sinister, Jonah had a boyish face beneath a mop of unkempt curls. He let the potatoes drop and crept across the kitchen like he was approaching a deadly viper that he expected to strike at any moment. He cast a furtive glance at Myrah, who was fussing around the kitchen and humming to herself. His hand was at one of the two curved daggers he had in his belt. 

“That won’t be necessary, I think.” Kunzite smiled, enjoying this a little too much.

“We’re only here to talk,” Endymion said earnestly.

“Incidentally, do you actually know how to use those?” Kunzite asked, curious.

“Well enough,” Jonah said shortly, his hand not moving from the dagger’s hilt.

Kunzite raised an eyebrow at Endymion, who gave him a smug little smirk. _Not a pig rider, then._

Jonah continued to glance at Myrah. He was concerned for her safety. Kunzite took that as a good sign. “What are you here to talk about?”

“How you took the wrong purse,” Kunzite answered.

The blond snorted. “Yes, I can see that.”

“But you did, though.” Endymion held up his own leather pouch. “This is the one you were after, isn’t it?”

“So what if it was? I got paid either way.”

Kunzite swirled the little pottery cup of tea. “Enough to buy some potatoes, I suppose.”

“A lot more than that. You carry an awful lot of coin for a soldier’s salary.”

Kunzite eyed him. “Yes. How _did_ you know?”

Jonah sneered. “What, like it’s not obvious? You don’t carry yourself right, he doesn’t carry himself right. And you seem like you should be the superior officer, but you follow him around. I don’t know whose uniforms those are, but they’re not yours.”

“You were watching for a while, then.”

“I’m patient.”

Kunzite barely managed to keep himself from rolling his eyes. “Yes. Of course you are. Most people don’t really look past the uniforms.”

“Yeah,” Jonah said with a cock of his head. “I’m not most people.”

Kunzite sighed at Endymion. “He has an attitude problem.”

Endymion pulled his money purse open and started digging through it. “You say that like you have any say in this.”

Kunzite picked at the remains of his biscuit. “I just want it stated for the record.”

Jonah stared at the two of them. For all his perceptiveness, it seemed, he was still struggling to figure out the two strangers sitting in his house. “What is this really about?”

“You were drawn to my purse,” Endymion said, fishing something out of it, “and I suspect it was because of this.” He set the Jadeite on the table. It was not glowing anymore, and between the simple pottery plates and the little jar of wildflowers, the dark green stone looked entirely ordinary. 

Even so, Jonah reached for it immediately. Kunzite grabbed his wrist--gently, this time. “You don’t want to do that. Not until you’ve decided.”

Jonah stared between him and the stone. “What is this? Who are you?”

Endymion smiled benevolently. “You don’t want to figure it out for yourself? Alright, I”ll give you a clue.” He reached beneath the cowl of his uniform and brought out the pendant he had been hiding beneath it. A golden sunburst, inlaid with glittering citrine, behind a crossed sword and rose. Their uniforms were embroidered with the same symbol. 

It took him a moment. “Oh,” Jonah said, before finally sinking into a chair and further messing his hair in his hands. “Shit.”

“That is not normally the reaction I get when people learn who I am.” Endymion continued to smile.

Jonah ran his hands down his face. “I can’t.”

“I haven’t even asked yet.”

“I can’t--” he glanced at the kitchen, at Myrah, “I can’t leave her.”

“The palace is a big place,” Endymion said. “She is, of course, invited.”

“But it is true,” Kunzite cautioned. “Whatever you have here, whatever life this is for you, you will be giving it up. And the thieving. That will have to stop.”

“Think it over,” Endymion said lightly, scooping the Jadeite back up. “I expect your answer by tomorrow.”

The two of them stood to leave. “Don’t you want your property back?” Jonah muttered, resolutely looking at anything other than the crown prince standing beside him.

“Either you can return it to me tomorrow,” Kunzite said, “or you can get that roof fixed.”

Endymion moved into the kitchen, to thank Myrah for her hospitality before they left. The two were still chatting when Jonah turned to Kunzite again. “Is it worth it?”

Kunzite did not need to think before he answered, “You said it yourself. I follow him.”


End file.
